Inspired by the Reynosa area of Mexico near the South Texas border where Ford Fry’s father and grandfather used to hunt, Little Rey will serve chicken al carbon platters and tacos in a casual environment.

“I always thought I liked my guacamole super limey because that’s how I ate it in Texas,” says Kevin Maxey, chef at Superica. “But since then I have found that it’s just as delicious even when it’s just avocado and salt. It’s all about texture.”

Atlanta is a city that looks outward far more than inward, or even nearby. Outward, say, to the Lower East Side (the General Muir’s pastrami), or to China (Gu’s Dumplings), or to France (Bread & Butterfly’s tender, airy omelets). With the glorious exception of Ryan Smith at Staplehouse, I didn’t find a posse of young, or youngish, chefs all cooking as much for each other as for the public. The priority in Atlanta is less innovation based on local ingredients, as at Staplehouse, than finding a formula that works and then pumping out food to fit it. This makes for generous, untweezed food. But it also means food that, once successful, can become rote.

Alvin Diec is arguably the most in-demand brand guru on Atlanta’s dining scene, and you’ve never heard of him. The unassuming graphic designer with thick-framed glasses is the quirky brain behind the websites, menus, trucker hats, and souvenir postcards of more than 44 Atlanta restaurants and retailers.

Of all the ways a server can make a guest feel insecure, the one that irritates me the most is “Have you dined with us before?” And why restaurants with their own grocery stores are particularly dear to me.

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